


A Boxful of Secrets (To Light the Way)

by A11e_B00klover



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (at the end) - Freeform, Galra as a multibillion dollar business, Gen, Modern AU, Mystery, On BOTH Accounts, Road Trip, Slight Violence, To Light The Way, Vigilante, Voltron Gen Mini Bang 2017, but i felt this title is more appropriate, except they're not space mice, ish, originally known as, they're circus mice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 08:39:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11665545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A11e_B00klover/pseuds/A11e_B00klover
Summary: When her father dies in mysterious circumstances and leaves her alone with nothing but questions, Allura sets out to find the truth, come what may.Or the time Allura decides to go Sherlock with her family-friend Coran and the five friends she makes in the process.(for the Voltron Gen Minibang 2017)(original title: To Light the Way)





	A Boxful of Secrets (To Light the Way)

Allura recalls her father as a great man, if a little distant.

She remembers staying up for him late at night, leaning against the banister of the stairs and determinedly trying to keep her eyes open until the creak of the opening front door woke her, or, if Allura had given into the temptation of sleep, the warm touch of his arms waking her from her doze as he picked her up in his arms gently as if she were still a baby instead of five and carrying her off to bed. She remembers his tired smile, the softness of his beard and the smell of ink and something sweet wafting off his clothes, and how sometimes the crinkle in his eyes turn sad when he looks at the picture of her mother above the fireplace. She remembers, with nostalgia so deep that it’s almost bottomless, the deep rumble of laughter that mixes with her own higher giggles they ran through the fields of flowers on their trips outside the city, gripping tightly onto his hair and staring around her with curious, gleeful wonder. Years spent with him learning self defence, a way to bond between the two of them and, when he was able, Coran, twirling his moustache and telling her stories about the world she has yet to see.

She remembers how, lately, her father has been talking with Coran over the phone about something he refuses to tell her about. She remembers how he came back late at night tired and worn out in a way she had not seen since her mother’s death, how he increased her self defence training without telling her why, how distracted he had been the following months. How grave looking people had arrived for serious talks that lasted late into the night at their home and how her father had spent more and more nights outside until one day, he didn’t come back at all.

As she sits through the funeral, dressed in black amidst the sea of mourners, Allura recalls and remembers, because now that her father is dead memories are all she has left of him.

She sobs her heart out during the funeral, because she is young and alone and the grief of losing her last living relative is still too much to bear. But afterwards, while lawyers discuss her father’s will and where she is to go after (she refuses to leave her own home, even if it’s now too large and lonely to be in), she is dry eyed and researching legislature with the determination and coolness of a captain looking up information to use in the battlefield.

(She has to stay strong. She _has to_ , because it is what she has promised her father. To stay strong in the face of adversary was one of their sayings, and isn’t death taking her loved ones - her father - the strongest adversary yet? And so even if Allura knows this is not what her father meant, even if Coran looks at her with a worried look in his eye that is almost too hard to bear and everyone else treats her like a child too dumb to understand, she will not cry. Instead, she will bottle up everything, lock her emotions away behind lock and key until they no longer exist and deal with what is in front of her.

Living would be too hard otherwise.)

Coran helps her, even if he shoots her worried looks that she ignores. He’s her uncle, although Allura has stopped calling him that since they decided that they were equals. He’s old, around her father’s age, but despite the wrinkles showing in the corner of his eyes he is still hale and hearty, thriving like a plant in the sun and gifted with the knowledge that comes from years of travel. He’d arrived three days after he got her call, orange hair and moustache askew and drenched right down to his bones as if he’d rushed straight over without stopping to eat, sleep or rest. He’d held her while they grieved over her father, sat right beside her during the funeral looking extraordinarily dapper in his black suit and blowing his nose with loud goose-like honks, and now he lends her a hand in helping her sort out the estate and the will and everything else.

He is quiet and respectful and _warm_ in a way no one else is and Allura, not for the first time and definitely not for the last time ( _please never let there be a last time_ ), is infinitely grateful for his support.

—–

The affair of the Will is a private procedure, somber and quiet. Her father had been very through in his will - Allura is named the successor of his estate and everything else he had owned, and Coran is now her legal guardian. She is also given the family heirloom - a necklace of gold inlaid with a beautiful triangular blue gem that sparkles in the light that her father had worn at all times, now hers to care for. Coran’s gift, in contrast, is made of smooth dark wood, a sharp jagged piece shaped like an explosion of light the size of Coran’s palm. It looks vaguely exotic, appropriate for a man who travels as much as he talks and devours knowledge like food. Coran smiles, sorrow and nostalgia shining through like a lamp in the dark, and throughout the hearing Allura can see him fiddling with the piece, twisting it in his hand before slipping it into his pocket.

Things aren’t as smooth during the matters of the estate.

A man approaches during the proceedings. He is a tall, broad man dressed in a rich purple suit so dark it was almost black, introducing himself as a CEO from Galra corporations and offering false sympathies with an insincere tongue. Allura does not remember his name, but she does remember how cold and stiff his hands had been as he offered her a handshake, as if he weren’t as used to comforting gestures as he is with words. There had been an assessive look in his eyes as he had looked at her, as if she were a piece of meat to be turned into sumptuous dishes and devoured, and Allura had been more than glad when Coran intervened with bright smiles that didn’t match the warning in his eyes to lead the CEO to the waiting room. He shoots similar looks at the mansion as he had done to her, a gaze that calculates how much everything is worth, and Allura keeps that in mind as they discuss matters of the estate and business.

As it turns out, the Galra Corporations has stakes on everything her father had owned, and they plan to take all of it once he is dead, despite her father’s will stating that Allura inherits everything once he has passed and that she is still alive. This will not do. They fight long and hard, but in the end, they are still two grieving people with a smattering of loyal personnel fighting against a large company CEO with multiple lawyers at their disposal.

They lose the trial.

It isn’t as bad as it could have been - they manage to keep the money, and the mansion has never been an option. But the business her father had created and poured his blood, sweat and tears into, the company he had defended against the Galra until the bitter end - all Allura has is a share of the company. Everything else is to be run by the Galra Corp, and all her father’s hard work has come to naught.

Allura understands the reasoning behind the Judge’s ruling. She is too young and inexperienced to run her father’s company, and Coran does not have the appropriate qualifications to behave as the boss of the company. If they were in charge, there is a very high possibility that they would have run the place into the ground. Galra Corporations, on the other hand, have people capable of being the boss and the ability to expand the company if so desired, and out of concern for the wellbeings of hundreds of people working with and for her father’s business, the Judge has ruled them fit to take the company and, by extension, a large part of the family inheritance.

This does not prevent the result from stinging any less.

The opposition smirks, and Allura is reminded of hyenas, bellies filled but hungry for more. Her team gathers their belongings and head for the door, and Allura remembers to thank them for their time and efforts. She is one of the last to leave, and she quickly gathers her items, head bent low to hide her expression as she attempts to regroup herself. Coran is waiting outside, and it would not do to dawdle.

“My condolences for your loss.” the voice reaches her ears in a smooth tenor, and it takes longer than it should have for Allura to realise that she is being spoken to. She turns to see a tall slim man standing a few feet behind her, watching her with unreadable eyes. He looks hauntingly familiar, dapper in a suit, and it takes a few seconds for Allura to recall where she has seen him. It is one of the men who has been visiting her father’s office and home, late in the night when there is no one but her to see their comings and goings.

She does not know his name. She is fairly sure that he does not know hers either, before the trail begins. This is the first time they are meeting. Why, then, is he here?

She gives a small nod, a sharp jerk of her head that acknowledges his words, and the man takes it as an invitation to continue the conversation. “We met for only a few months, but Alfor was a good man. He’ll be sorely missed.”

Allura is surprised at the rush of grief and anger that washes over her at those words. She tries to squash it down, and mostly succeeds - It would be unbecoming to break down like this in public, especially in front of the opposition. The man sounds sincere, but he is one of the people who had helped to win the trail, and he has no right to say that.

“Yes,” She says, only mildly strangled, and she blinks rapidly in an effort to keep tears from welling up. “Yes, he was. One of the best.” Allura takes a deep breath, closing her eyes and forcing her emotions back, and when she lets out her breath and opens her eyes her gaze is hard and clear, staring up into the man’s dark eyes with the cool toughness of diamond. When she speaks again her tone is polite, belying steel. “I apologise for my curtness, but do you need anything? My uncle is waiting for me.”

He opens his mouth and pauses. Allura continues packing as he stays silent, but it’s not intimidating - it’s an awkward silence, desperate and lost as if he is thinking a million things at once but doesn’t know how to say them. He looks around, and Allura is suddenly very aware that they are both the only people in the room.

When the man speaks again, Allura is almost done the packing. “My colleagues are waiting for me too,” he says cheerily, but his eyes are serious. He walks towards her, and Allura’s hands tense as he smiles and says. “Look, I just need to say something.”

She expects taunts or threats. She does not expect him to lean over and whisper “What your father was researching was dangerous. Don’t end up like him, Miss Altea.”

Allura pauses, brain going blank.

“Excuse me?” Allura smiles incredulously, certain she must have misheard, but the man doesn’t say anything, merely walking past her towards the door. Allura turns, hand reaching out to grasp his shoulder and ask again when the door opens.

“Allura?” Coran’s head pops in, a lock of orange hair falling over his eyes. His eyes dim as he catches sight of the man, but his smile brightens when he catches sight of his niece. He walks in jauntily as the man strides confidently towards the exit, but as they walk past each other down the narrow pathway their shoulders bump, causing Coran to stumble a step. “Whoops! Sorry.”

The man gives a nod at Coran’s apology. Coran frowns at the lack of apology as the man walks past with the confidence of a prince, out towards his comrades. The moment the man is out of the room, Coran turns and hurries over to Allura. “Princess!” He says, reverting to the nickname that they had given each other when Allura had a royal Queen phase that she still hasn’t quite grown out of. He grabs her gently on the shoulder, a worried look on her face, and Allura lets him hover as she mulls over the man’s words. “Are you alright?”

“… yes.” She says, but it is distant, as if she’s too distracted to answer truthfully. She stares thoughtfully at the door, the frown on her face deepening even deeper. “Yes, I am quite alright, Coran.”

“That’s good.” Coran relaxes, but only marginally. Even though the man is no longer present, he scowls at the door as if wishing multiple poxes on the man. “What did he say? If it was something like gloating or taking a piss at you because we lost -”

“No, Coran, nothing of the sort, really!” Allura reassures him, taking his hands in her own. Coran is rarely this frazzled, and she attempts a smile to reassure him but it feels unnatural on her face and Coran only frowns harder. “Just …” She searches for the words that would not further aggravate Coran. “He was just sharing his condolences about Father and reassuring me about the company, really.” She manages, and when she attempts a smile again it feels more natural on her face this time. “Nothing to worry about!”

Coran looks unconvinced, but he lets the subject drop as Allura makes a show of gathering the few papers that are left into a neat pile and into her briefcase. Coran, ever the gentleman, twitches his hand towards the briefcase in question. Allura shakes her head (the heaviness of the bag makes her feel grounded, and besides, Coran is already carrying his own briefcase) and his hand drops, and together, the two make their way out of the building and towards the restaurant as Allura does her best to lighten the mood.

By the time they reach the joint, Coran is smiling and joining in with her quips like before, but even as Allura jokes and laughs back at him the man’s words sticks to the back of her mind like gum at the bottom of a chair stirring up feelings of unease in the back of her mind.

———

In the past two weeks, there have been three break ins into the house. They’re all small time robbers, all claiming to be looking for a quick buck and cursing the alarm system that caught them, yet Allura cannot help but notice that they all lead to her father’s study - odd, as all it contained were records of his work instead of cash or precious jewels. The man’s words running through her mind, she asks Coran for the keys and searches the room herself, hunting for anything that could have been linked to the break ins.

Papers, papers everywhere, littering the room like solid snow, but after hours of searching all she has to show for her searches is a smooth wooden box the size of an art folio, hidden amongst the recesses of her father’s large table like an egg in a nest. It’s a rich dark brown in a way that exudes the solidness of ancient yews that last for eternity, an elaborately carved replica of space with looping curls of planets and sharp jags like starbursts. It has no keyholes, and Allura spends an hour pressing carefully against the stars in the hopes of finding a hidden switch before discovering a missing piece in the artwork, a deep groove in the smooth wood that is felt more than seen.

It’s hidden between a wisp of cloud and a falling star, the indented shape of an explosion of light, sharp and forever reaching outwards. The shape is very, very familiar.

Allura grabs the box with both hands and goes to find Coran.

——-

The box opens once the piece Coran holds slips into place, opening with the silence of a tomb. Inside the box lies a blue folder containing a bundle of papers and another small box made of metal, one that Allura remembers giving to her father when she was young for father’s day. Coran fiddles with the metal box at the same time Allura grabs the folder, flipping through the multiple pages at lightning speed as she skims the pages, like a reader impatiently trying to get to the ending of the book. She frowns - the elegant cramped script is definitely her father’s, but the information is coded, words and numbers like some kind of internet lingo from the dark web.

“Coran,” She calls, tilting her head as she tries to make sense of the words. “What do you think this means?”

“Eh?” Coran walks closer to see, peering over her shoulders at the papers. His eyebrows go up, and Allura notices how his eyes go from surprised happiness to nostalgic sorrow within the span of a few seconds. “Why, that’s the code your father and I used back in the old days! I had no idea he was still using it.” He takes the folder from Allura and hands the tin over to her in exchange, and he flips through it as Allura holds the tin in her hands, muttering to himself as he does so.

Allura would love nothing more than to listen (Coran never really talks about his childhood, just about his travels, and she is curious to listen to what they were like as teenagers), but she can’t make out what Coran is muttering underneath his breath, and it is rude to eavesdrop, so instead she tilts her head and examines the metal box in her hand.

There’s a combination lock on the box. A memory flashes in Allura’s mind, a glance of old film that fleets and fades. Almost in a reverie, she twists the numbers, presses the button…. And the lock snaps open with a small ping that reverberates in the air before fading away.

Allura smiles faintly, bittersweet sentimentality seeping into her mind like stains of tea. Even now, after all these years, her father still uses his wedding anniversary as a password.

Delicately, she opens the box. Inside, nestled in a velvet cloth that’s the color of space, is a small, sleek silver thumb drive the size of her thumb. Brows furrowing, Allura plucks the thumb drive out of its box just as Coran swears in what sounds like Finnish. Allura turns her head, contents of the box momentarily forgotten.

Coran’s swearing has tiers, sorted in a muddled, constantly shifting algorithm of languages that he has absorbed through osmosis over the years. If Coran is swearing in Scandinavian, it must mean something very shocking has happened.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, worried. She takes a step closer; another, and Coran starts as if he has just remembered that he was not the only one in the room. “Coran,” she asks, voice rising a little in trepidation, “what did my father write?”

“Ah.” Coran’s face looks conflicted, as if he doesn’t know what expression, what mask, to pull on to put Allura at ease. He looks as if he’s about to try a smile, mustache twitching, but when he sees the expression on Allura’s face he stops. His gaze turns serious. He gestures towards the papers, a short and sharp tap to the papers, drawing a deep, fortifying breath. “You’re not going to like this, Princess.”

Allura takes a breath, steels herself. The worst has already happened, and she can take a little more bad news. “Tell me anyway.”

Nestled in her hand, the thumb drive feels like lead.

——-

Every company had some skeletons in the closet no matter how benevolent they were, and her father’s company is no exception. However, Galra corporations doesn’t just have a few - they have several, all shoved into the closet at the back in an attempt to hide, mounds of bones and rotting flesh hidden in the dark. They might show themselves as a company that stands at the pinnacle of science, be it medical, chemical or otherwise, pioneering the unknown for the benefit of others and extending a helping hand to those who have the same goals, but Allura now knows that it is nothing but an illusion. Behind the silver words and gilded purple logo is a company covered in bloodshed and darkness, lounging on a throne of bones disguised to look like gold, enticing others to draw near without realising the trap.

Alfor had noticed the darkness, searched for the skeletons, found some of the bleached bones in the darkness… and had taken them to reveal to the public. Allura doesn’t know what exactly her father has found, but whatever it is, he has entrusted it to them. The key he had left to Coran, the messages in an old code only two people knew, the box she knew the password to. Those were not coincidences, and the fact that her father has left them with a mission that took his life rests heavy on Allura’s shoulders, a crown she feels too young and inexperienced to wear.

The thumb drive contains the information they would surely need to even have the chance to take down Galra Company, one that is protected by a password they do not know. Allura is sure that even if they did, it wouldn’t matter - there is definitely more than one password, and she wouldn’t put it past her father for ensuring that the information is coded too, preventing anybody from understanding it unless they knew the right sequence to crack it. Her father is - was - nothing if not thorough in ensuring that his things were kept safe - even if he failed to succeed in guarding himself at the end.

Allura keeps the original copy with her at all times, hidden with her necklace under her shirt like a lucky charm. Coran is already making copies of the data, separate backups that are kept in secret locations. If the original copy is stolen or destroyed, they have the backups to rely on, and if they die in the attempt to unravel the truth, the information will be their legacy for others to complete.

The two of them, as they are, are too weak to accomplish much. To fight this battle, they would need allies.

Her father’s notes had contained some names - the Holts are prevalent amongst them. Samuel Holt had worked as a full-time member in the Galra Corporation’s science division. Working alongside him as interns were his son Matthew Holt and Matthew’s classmate, Takeshi Shirogane.

A quick search reveals them to be missing. A year ago, they had set out to work and never come back. The noise at the time had been loud, many speculations made without proof, but like all incidents, it has faded into the background, present only to those who search.

At the time, Allura had dismissed the incident from her mind, concerned only with exams. Now, she wonders if there is more to the disappearance than she had thought.

——-

It takes only a few hours for Allura to learn their address. She looks up the newspapers too, an attempt to refresh her memory on the incident. Their bright smiles beam out of a photo in the papers amongst a multitude of articles, the small print writing about how the trio went to work one day and never came back. It is a disappointingly small article beside an equally tiny article about an increase in disappearances amongst the homeless, and Allura wonders if the newspaper has been pressured to minimize exposure by Galra Corporations.

The rest of their family, a mother and daughter that share the same hair as the other two. Their grief is caught on camera for the whole world to see, and Allura wonders if even now, they are still waiting for them to come back.

She wouldn’t be surprised if they were. Even after her mother died, her father has never remarried. For them, it has been only a year - it is extremely possible that they are still in mourning.

The people originally involved in the code might have disappeared, but the people that remain of their family might know something about it. It takes little time to find the Holt’s address, and soon Allura and Coran are on the move. They split up halfway there - Coran heads off to his contacts to find a trustworthy hacker, while Allura continues towards the Holt’s address. The Holt’s might not trust a grown man, after their past experience with reporters, but if her father’s notes are accurate, they might trust a young woman searching for the last few people her father had contacted.

The woman who greets Allura looks tired to the bone, worn out and faded like an old photograph. She attempts to close the door on them at first, but through some miracle, Allura manages to convince her that she isn’t a reporter and to give her a chance - Much like they had hoped, Allura’s father had been over long enough for Mrs Holt to recognize his features in Allura’s own.

Mrs Holt is clearly tired. Dark bags lines her eyes, and she is still mourning over the loss of half her family. But her eyes are alert and filled with strength as she listens to Allura’s story over steaming mugs of tea.

“I’m sorry.” She says when they’re done. The mugs of tea lie cold on the table, undrunk. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. I knew Sam and Max were up to something, but they never told me anything about it - just that it would help people in need. They’re always like that.” Her eyes well up in tears, and Allura silently pushes the box of tissues on the table towards her, eyes shining with understanding sympathy. “I understand you want to find out what your father has been working on, and I would like to help, but I was never told anything about a password, and I don’t know how to crack codes.” Her voice quietens, full of grief and guilt, and her eyes shine with unshed tears. “I can’t help you. I’m sorry, but I _can’t_.”

Allura pauses for a moment, searching for the right words. Mrs Holt looks fragile, worn down and cracked despite a seemingly strong base, and Allura does not want to deal a blow that could shatter.

“It’s ok,” is what she chooses to say, as soothingly as she can. Reaching forward, Allura slowly pats her on the hand, giving Mrs Holt time to move away if she wishes to. She merely stays, and Allura holds her hands in what she hopes is a comforting manner. “It’s ok.” She repeats, pushing all the conviction she has into her words while hiding her disappointment at the lack of knowledge gained. That is not what Mrs Holt needs to hear right now. “It’s alright. I merely wanted to know - it’s ok…”

Coming here had been a mistake. No matter Allura’s intentions, she has opened up old wounds in a grieving mother. After ensuring that Mrs Holt is emotionally stable, Allura prepares to take her leave. She goes to the door, but before she can reach the handle, Mrs Holt calls her back.

She looks conflicted, but after looking at Allura’s face a couple of seconds, the conflict fades and comes into a decision - although what she’s decided, Allura does not know.

“I can’t help you,” She says, looking determinedly at Allura. “I can’t help you, but maybe my daughter can. She knows more about codes than I do.” She places a piece of paper into Allura’s hand. Allura glances at it - it’s an address, written in small letters. She smiles, warm but fragile. “Go there. Tell her that Colleen Holt sent you and that I expect her to be back for lunch on Monday. You’re welcome as well, Allura.”

‘ _I entrust my daughter to you_ ’. The words remain unspoken, but it weighs on Allura’s shoulders like stones, an addition that reminds her of the many responsibilities she already has to bear. Allura stares at the paper in her hand for a second, momentarily overcome with hope. She folds her hand delicately around the paper as if it were the finest gem, encloses it delicately in her fist and hides it away from the world.

Allura looks up, and smiles. “Thank you,” Allura says, and despite the newfound weight, she means what she says.

——–

She meets up with Coran for dinner at the cafe near the train station. He brings with him four mice in a cage - they’re snoozing, all different shades of fur, and Allura stares at them in astonishment as Coran sets the cage gently down on a chair.

“ New pets!” he announces, sliding into a chair himself. He grins at her, mustache twitching upwards in sync with his lips. “Very clever _mus musculus_. They used to be in a circus, but the circus disbanded and left my friend in charge of them - only he couldn’t keep them. Had to take care of them in exchange for a hacker’s address, but they’re very trustworthy!” He looks at her expectantly. “How did things at your end go?”

Allura shares her story while they eat. She holds out the piece of paper to Coran, and he examines the paper. His eyebrows rise in surprise, and he shuffles in his pocket, pulling out a scrap of paper. He compares them, eyebrows rising even higher. “Strange,” he says, pulling thoughtfully at his mustache.

“How so?”

“This is the same address as I had for that hacker I mentioned,” Coran explains, leaning forwards. “His name should be Pidge Gunderson, but…”

“The daughter’s name is Katie Holt.” Allura finishes, mind connecting the dots. She frowns. Did they live together? Allura wonders if Colleen Holt would allow her daughter to live with a stranger. Probably not.

“Something is going on here,” she says decisively, standing up. She gestures to one of the waiters for the check. “Let’s find out.”

———

As it turns out, both hacker and daughter are the same. She looks like the ghost of Matt Holt, long hair cut short and hazel eyes framed in round glasses, but the suspicious glare she shoots at Allura and Coran is the complete opposite of the smile her brother wore in the pictures.

In sharp contrast to the clean coziness of the Holt’s house, Pidge is staying in a small shack that looks more like a hovel than an apartment. She seems skeptical at first, but a mention of her mother and a view of the note is all it takes to convince her. With a scratch of her head and a sigh, the hacker lets them into her home.

Inside, it is dingy and small, cluttered with wires and computer pieces everywhere. There’s a room opposite the kitchen that is filled with screens and monitors that glint in the dark. In a gesture similar to her mother, Pidge produces mugs of tea from the kitchen. She plonks it down on the table amidst the clutter of half disassembled machinery, and the strong, flowery brew wafts towards Allura’s nose. Gently, she nurses the cup, and between sips of tea, they tell their story.

Allura lays out the terms - a job that relates to her personally and pays well, something that would be attractive to someone living in such mess, in such circumstances. Pidge listens in silence, saying nothing. When they finish their tale, she remains crouched on the chair like a gremlin, sipping her own mug of tea as she thinks.

It takes half a mug before Pidge comes to a decision.

“I get to find the assholes behind my brother and dad’s disappearance _and_ I get paid to do it?” Pidge says at last, glasses glinting in the sunlight. She grins, slow and vicious, a malevolent Cheshire. “Count me in.”

——–

Pidge is a phenomenal hacker. It takes her a few days to figure out the password, providing them some data with a mention of using a self-made hacking bot. There is a sequence of zeros and ones, a code that remains as mysterious to Allura as a skirt is to Pidge, but Pidge promises that she can help decipher the data.

She has also, with their permission, set up contingencies for the backups Coran has made. If they’ve been missing for a week, the data is released into the internet in the form of a game for anyone to solve. Once something is released on the internet, nothing can take it back, and Allura understands that the difficulty would attract people to work until they crack the code in an attempt to beat the game.

Allura remembers the disappearance, wonders if this was why she chose such a method. Whatever the reason, it is a good method of action. She approves.

Pidge is a phenomenal hacker, but she is also a human who requires sleep. Seeing Pidge’s disheveled hair and bloodshot eyes, clothes rumpled as if she hasn’t slept in days, Allura tries to persuade her to take a nap before doing anything else. It takes a surprisingly short time before Pidge is napping on one of the couches, sprawled underneath a blanket. Saliva drools out of her mouth as she snores; her face looks young without its usual scowl. Not for the first time, Allura feels the weight of Colleen Holt’s words weighing down on her shoulders.

Allura makes a note to ask Pidge to stay at the mansion while they’re working together - It would be easier on both of them if they stayed in the same place. Gently, she pats the mice and turns to leave, shrugging on her jacket as she prepares to head out for her daily jog.

While Pidge has been working on cracking the code, both Allura and Coran have been searching the city. Two pairs of eyes are not enough to cover the whole of the city, however, and so Allura and Coran have taken to asking people to help.

Allura’s jogging routine goes down the streets, through the park, past the small cookie shop that’s a few yards beside the bridge and back again. Halfway through the park, a boy with bright blue eyes joins her, long legs easily keeping up with her leisurely pace. Allura shoots a glance at him, and he grins at her, a flash of white teeth that’s full of goofy charm.

“Hey, beautiful! You’re so hot your steps still have smoke rising from the ground,” he informs her cheerily, a cheesy pickup line that leaves Allura rolling her eyes and muffling a snort.

The first time Lance had tried those lines on her, Allura had thought he had been serious, a wannabe casanova with little thought of the future. Now, however, she knows that while he does have a terrible love for pickup lines, he is the opposite of the men who try to pick ladies up. There is a very large space between them whenever Lance uses a pickup line, and it’s obvious that it was meant as a compliment and nothing more.

The constant repetition is obnoxious, but Lance wouldn’t be Lance without them. Besides, he would - and has - stop if she tells him to, and Allura knows she can flip him over before he can lay a hand on her. She has nothing to fear from him.

“Thank you, Lance.” She grins, feet moving rhythmically forwards. “Good evening to you too. Has anything strange been going on lately?”

“Nope, nothing much,” the boy says easily. He flashes a grin at her, moving a little closer and lowering his volume. Allura appreciates it - the park is empty, but you never know. “There have been rumors of the homeless going missing, and Granny Cosmos is finally getting her dentures done, but as for who you’re looking for -” he shrugs, a fluid movement that rises and shifts into the movement of his shoulders as he runs. “There’s not much on my end.”

Allura digests the information, turning the words around in her head. “Not much?” she asks, shooting Lance a questioning look.

“Not much.” He confirms, beaming. Jogging ahead of her, Lance twists around like a skater on ice and shoots her two thumbs up, jogging backward. Allura wonders if he notices the lamp post a few meters behind him. “But not nothing! We’re almost at the cafe now - Hunk can help me fill you in once he’s on break.”

Hope rises within Allura, wings spreading like a bird about to fly. This quickly turns into amusement when Lance jogs right into the lamp post - as it turns out, he hadn’t noticed it after all. As she tends to the bump on Lance’s head - a small bruise which will fade in a couple of days - Allura localizes her emotions, forcing the hope back into its cage and locking the door. There have been many false hopes in the past weeks, false leads that were dead ends, and Allura knows that keeping her hopes low will be best in case this is one of them.

Bump tended to with minimal flirtations and troubles, they resume jogging. If Allura’s pace increases from a steady bass into a rhythmic tempo, Lance says nothing about it, chattering on about other things instead.

———

By the time they reach the cafe, Allura is, despite herself, bursting with hidden anticipation.

It’s a small cafe, tucked away beside a bookshop and a hat store on the corner of the street. It’s decorated in warm colors, a large sign on top saying The Hideout’ in large simple letters, and as always it is open. The Hideout is like an oyster in the deep sea bed that hides a pearl of immense value - it’s hidden away in the depth of the streets amongst the other shops, but the food they make is absolutely gorgeous. With its delicious food and affordable prices, the cafe has gathered quite the reputation amongst these parts as one of the unofficially best places to eat.

As the grandson of the owner, Hunk has been learning the recipes since he could hold a knife. Lance a few steps behind her, Allura opens the door and steps inside, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath as she does so.

The smell is heavenly as always. A savory mix of spices and sweets - nutmeg, thyme, basil, too many to count - fill the room, and Allura feels a smile forming on her face. The inside is small but cozy, with warm blue walls and tables and comfortable chairs. There’re few people today, and Shay, one of the waitresses, waves at them from behind the counter and gestures at them to take a seat. Allura grabs a window seat as Lance strides up to the counter, and he takes the opposite seat when he returns with a plateful of assorted cookies.

There’s a note on the plate that contains Hunk’s careful handwriting. It says the cookies are free of charge. Taking a white rabbit cookie, Lance slides the plate in the middle of the table, an unspoken offer of sharing. Taking a biscuit shaped like a clam, Allura bites into it, closing her eyes in bliss as rich chocolate fills her mouth. Not for the first time, Allura wonders if Hunk would be angry if she asks for the recipes (he is normally a mellow person, but he becomes extremely meticulous when it comes to cooking). It probably isn’t possible since it’s a store recipe, but…

She resolves to ask when they’ve known each other for a couple of years. It has only been a few weeks since Coran has introduced them to each other, and they’re still feeling each other out, in their own ways. Asking such a sensitive question now would probably be a bad idea.

Lance chatters as they wait, about ordinary things that range from his family to his pet cat. Allura provides returning banter while she munches on the biscuits and sips from her waterbottle, and they’re halfway through the biscuit and debating the pros and cons of pineapple on pizza before Hunk appears, holding a muffin in one hand.

“Hey, Allura!” Hunk greets her enthusiastically upon reaching them. He slides into the bench beside Lance and presents the cupcake to her, encouraging her to take it. “Does this taste like banana? Please tell me this tastes like banana because I’ve been trying to get this recipe right for a couple of times now and I have no idea if it’s good - oh right, Lance! Here’s yours.” Like a baking magician, Hunk pulls another muffin out of nowhere like a magician with a coin and offers it to Lance,

The muffins look squashed, with a large slice of banana poking out at the top. At Hunk’s expectant look, Allura and Lance take the muffin from his hands, Allura glancing curiously at hers before taking a bite.

She almost drops the muffin. It’s hot on her tongue, freshly baked, but the flavor of fresh banana’s spread across her mouth like ripples in water, mixed with splashes of vanilla. The muffin is smooth, breaking apart easily as she chews, and the steaming hot banana slices decorating the top breaks apart easily and enhance the flavor of banana in her mouth, contrasting the gentle taste of vanilla. Before she realizes it, Allura has downed half the muffin.

Hunk looks at them expectantly. “Well?” He asks anxiously, twisting a hand in his apron. “What do you think?”

“Too much banana,” Lance announces as Allura continues to dig in. He takes another bite and chews thoughtfully. “Yep, too much banana. Can barely taste the vanilla.”

Hunk’s shoulders droop when Allura nods in agreement. “Yeah, I thought so. Guess I’ll add more vanilla extract next time.”

“Dude, how about chocolate chips?” Lance finishes the muffin, licking the crumbs off his fingers. “Chocolate chip and bananas are pretty good. Or Blueberry!” Lance grins and elbows Hunk gently in the side. “Imagine all that fruity goodness, mmm.”

“I don’t know.” Hunk says hesitantly, resting his elbows on the table. “Blueberries might make it too sweet, and we don’t have any in the fridge. But we’ve got raspberry.” Hunk gave a considering hum, eyes distant. “And there’s some yoghurt in the fridge that’s gonna expire soon…”

“Wait wait wait wait.” Lance leans forwards, surprise crossing his face.Across the table, mouth stuffed full with muffin, Allura raises her eyebrows in solidarity as Lance, in a surprising show of flexibility, twists across to face Hunk. “Raspberry Yoghurt? Can that even be used in muffins? Won’t the heat make the yoghurt go sour or something?”

“Well, it’s not like we’d be heating up pure yogurt, we’d be heating up the batter mixture that’s got the yogurt mixed into it.” Hunk gives a one shoulder shrug. “And yeah, it can. I made the mixture in middle school once, it was pretty simple. The fire alarm rang before they were finished, though.” Lance still looks befuddled, and Hunk raises an eyebrow. “That fire evacuation in third year, remember? The day where Mr Hazelman sent you to detention because you picked a fight with Rowan O’Hara? That one.”

The rays of understanding clear up the fog of miscomprehension on Lance’s face. “Ohh, that fire evacuation!” The expression quickly turned into a scowl. “Rowan was totally asking for it - he tried to slide a bug down Melissa’s shirt. What’s that got to do with yogurt cookies?”

“Well.” Hunk grins and settles back into the bench. “I was in baking class-”

“Boys!” Allura interjects, subtly brushing the muffin away from her fingers the best she can. They both turn to face her, momentarily nonplussed as if they’ve forgotten that she was there. A part of her is interested in how a fire leads to yogurt cookies, but it’s overpowered by impatience for new information. At this rate, Hunk’s break will be over before they can even approach the subject. She smiles and raises an eyebrow. “As much as I’d love to hear about your middle school escapades and eat more delicious muffins, I do believe that we have more important measures to discuss..?”

“Oh, right! Sorry, kinda forgot.” Allura doesn’t miss the hesitant glance he casts towards Lance, as if the story might trouble him.“Alright, this is going to take a bit long, but do you know about Soup Sunday?”

Allura nods. Back before Hunk had been born and Coran a wee boy, Hunk’s grandmother had been homeless before getting a job at a sympathetic dining store. Her experiences had translated into Soup Sunday. Every fortnight, the cafe throws all its leftovers into a delicious mash-up of stew and other hearty dishes and serves it to the poor and homeless, for anything they can scrap up. It’s a win-win situation - the less fortunate get a delicious free meal that lasts until the shop closes at the price of a song or help in the kitchen, while the cafe gets to tests out new recipes, not waste food and earn favors amongst many.

It’s a good tradition, she feels. “Did something happen this Soup Sunday?”

“Well, yeah.” Hunk scratches his head. He smiles, but it’s right around the edges, worry flickering in his eyes like a candle in the wind. “Coran gave me the idea, actually - asking the homeless if they knew anything. Nobody really notices them, you know? So nobody really takes note of what’s said around them, like janitors. Lance and I asked them if they had any news. And they did.” Hunk’s face darkens, gray clouds of discomfort and anger flickering across his face. “Turns out a lot of them are going missing - which I thought meant getting arrested or getting a new job type of going missing because that’s normally what happens, but no - they’re getting snatched off the streets. Dozens of people going missing, and nobody knows or cares. The only reason we know is that Lance and I asked.”

Allura’s eyes go wide, chills running down her spine. “That’s horrible! What about the police?”

“The police? Since when have they done anything for us?” Lance scoffs, leaning backward. He looks discontent, a small crack in the smooth smile he wears. “They don’t do anything to help people of color like us, it’s not like they’re going to do anything to help homeless people.”

Allura frowns. She… can’t really argue with that. The police in her neighborhood were nice, upstanding citizens that had a code of justice and equality she couldn’t help but admire, but she knows that the life she leads is a privileged one. Other neighborhoods weren’t as lucky, and from the dark look on Lance and Hunk’s face, as if they were being shown clips of unwanted memories, it is evident that they had not had the same fortune as she had when it came to the police.

Still, for every person who doesn’t care, there is one who does. She has no authority to do anything, nor Hunk or Lance - high school students, all of them, not even old enough to vote - but Allura is sure that there will be at least someone in authority who does and will try to help. Telling the police would at least bring light to the situation.

Which is why Allura clasps her hands together and says, “Well, we should still inform them anyway. It might do nothing, but it never hurts to try. And if not…” her eyes flash with determination. “We’ll _make_ them care.”

“Granny’s on it.” Hunk nods towards the door behind the counter. Allura knows it leads to the kitchen. “She’s planning to hold a talk with Nyma and Rollo tomorrow, I’m sure she’ll have something you can help with.”

“I’ll join her when I have the chance.” Allura decides. Her mind blazes with possibilities - an article, maybe? Pidge could help her figure out how to signal boost it. But for now… She frowns. “How does this relate to the information, however?”

This time, Lance answers, sparkles in his eyes. “The Champion.”

Allura frowns. “The Champion?”

“The Champion.” Hunk confirms. He leans forwards, lowering his voice like a spy exchanging information. “Remember that piece about homeless people going missing? Well, someone’s rescuing them. They don’t know his name, so they call him Champion - because he keeps winning. This guy I asked during Soup Sunday was one of the people who got caught a few days ago. Bundled into an unmarked van with some others. He thought he was a goner until some guy in a black hoodie and a prosthetic arm popped out to help - took them down like  _hya_!” Hunk mimes a chop. “Helped them get away. So they’re still going missing, but not as many as there used to be before this happened.”

Allura nods, not quite seeing the connection. “And…?”

Lance grins, smile curling like a cat with cream. “While they were caught, the man heard them talking about handing them over to Galra corp. And Champion?” He leans forward in a whisper. “His arm - it looks like Galra Corp. tech.”

Allura’s eyes go wide. She leans back, silently digesting the information.

The Holt’s disappearance, the snatched people, the man who saved them… was this what her father was researching before he was murdered? Almost involuntarily, Allura’s mind flashes back to the news article of missing people and her father’s research. Whatever was going on, it seems as if Galra Corporations were behind it.

Something sinks in her gut, cold and hard. This is more dangerous than she thought.

But why…?

Maybe….

Quietly, like a sun rising in the sky, an idea takes form in Allura’s mind. She leans forwards.

“Hunk. Does the person you asked still remember the location?”

Hunk blinks, taken aback by the sudden question. “What? Yeah, probably.” A look of suspicion crosses his face. “Why?”

Allura grins. Lance and Hunk shrink back in their seat. “I would like to meet this Champion.”

"What, now?" Lance wrinkles his nose. "We don't even know where he is, that's probably not a good idea."

"Later, then." Allura steeples her fingers contentedly. This is no longer about her father’s death or his last legacy. The situation has changed now, with this information. This is about bringing justice to those who have been wrong, and retribution to those who have wronged them. But before that...

This is a good establishment and Allura is, despite everything, still a teenage girl who's spent months without friendly conversation. High school gossip is like a breath of fresh air - and allows her to learn more about her acquaintances (and soon-to-be-friends, hopefully). "Continue on about the yogurt cookies. What happened?"

"Well." Hunk leans forwards with the grin of a sprouting grapevine. "It all started with flour being an explosive..."

——-

The information Pidge has extracted from one of the many files confirms Allura’s theory - research papers worth of illegal human testing, stolen from the Galra Corporations database. There is little indication of what they have been taken for, but signs point to the medical division. Galra Corporations Medical Division has made leaps and bounds of progress under Hagar’s supervision, and Allura wonders if she is behind this operation.

Pidge has, at her mother’s wheedling and Allura’s behest, taken up residency in one of the mansion’s many rooms, a method that makes contact and information extraction easier. Said room is now filled with wires and screens, monitors humming quietly in the background as she works on the code. It has been 12 days, and despite the short time period she has decoded some of the documents - although more often than not at the cost of her eating schedule.

It is originally for this reason that Allura invites Hunk and Lance to her house. At first, it was merely consultation on simple dishes that could be made, but soon she invites Hunk to her house, Lance in tow.

Hunk falls in love with the kitchen at first sight. Both Allura and Lance exchange silent fist bumps as Hunk flits around the kitchen like a hummingbird in a garden of flowers, sparkles in his eyes as he flies at Mach speed to inspect every utensil and cabinet. While Hunk works in the kitchen, Lance hangs in the gaming room listening to Coran’s tales or practicing with his nerf gun. When they come across Pidge, they take to her like a duck to water. Hunk and Pidge share the same intellectual mindset and can often be found discussing scientific theories or working on something together in her workshop, with occasional input from their beta-tester Lance.

The three make a good team, and when Allura sees Lance posing in aluminum foil armor while Pidge and Hunk laugh their butts off in the living room, Coran shaking his head with a grin that is untinged with sorrow for the first time since the funeral, she is glad that she has brought them together.

———

It takes two Soup Sundays and all five of them working themselves to the bone interviewing people, but in the end, they gather enough information to create a map of the city with spots where the Champion had appeared. It’s an oddly wide range, but there is a pattern which falls back to a small area around abandoned buildings.

From there, Allura devises a plan. It is a simple plan - they dress incognito and search the area for any information on the Champion. Best case scenario, they find him and they decide to work together. Worst case scenario, they get attacked and killed by unsavory people and robbed for all they have. Allura is fairly sure that that won’t be the case, however.

Coran, on the other hand, isn’t so sure.

They argue. Lance and Hunk hide in Pidge’s room while they yell and fight, coming out only after the yelling has stopped.

In the end, they arrive at a compromise - they travel in twos, and they have until evening to search. If they don’t call or come back by ten, the others are to call the police and direct them to to the location of the GPS sewn inside their shirts.

It’s a stifling set of conditions, almost overprotective, but Allura understands. Coran has already lost someone dear to him. He does not plan on losing another, and if Allura had been in the same position, she would have done the same.

As Coran and Lance go off to another room discussing what they need for the operation, Allura looks at the map. The spot they chose is circled in bright red marker - a series of buildings in the seedier part of town, abandoned and left to house squatters and other people. She wonders if he is there, what type of person he was.

She wonders if the Champion knows what is going on at Galra corporations.

———–

It takes 3 days before they find the Champion. Or, to be more exact, the Champion finds them.

Most of the buildings have been mostly empty, filled with squatters and other less fortunate people trying to make a living. There were a few close calls - Pidge had tased a man who looked a little too handsy, and Hunk was lucky that the man who had attacked them had dulled his senses with drink - but mostly, the information gathering had gone well. Allura is thankful that it is the holidays - they wouldn’t have covered so much ground in such a short time if they had lessons to attend.

It’s Allura and Lance’s turn to patrol this time. Hunk had to help his grandmother out, and Pidge has a breakthrough in the code that she wanted to pursue. The building seems old, abandoned to rot, but it isn’t until they climb in through the open window and find themselves surrounded by graffitied walls and a bunch of angry people that they realize that they have stepped foot into gang territory.

It seems that their luck has run out.

They run, fleeing into the alleys, but the gang knows the terrain better than they do. They get hemmed in at the end of an alcove, the gang prowling like a pack of wolves on the hunt, leering with hunger. Back to back with Lance, Allura grips her newly acquired crowbar and waits, heart hammering in her throat.

It doesn’t take long before one of them darts forwards. Allura swings, and there is a satisfying crunch as it hits the man’s wrist. In that timespan, another of them - a young woman with braided black hair this time - darts forwards, but Lance throws a rock at her face with pinpoint accuracy while Allura jabs her in the gut. She goes down with a gurgle.

They fight, and they fight well, but in the end, it’s two against six. Allura whirls around as Lance yells, concentration snapped as she catches sight of Lance grapples with the person who grabbed him, and that is all her opponent needs to slam his bat through her defenses.

Allura falls, pain crackling through her abdomen like flames. She gasps, brings her crowbar up in a block as a shoe falls towards her stomach in a kick-

Only for the leg to jerk to the side as someone smashes into her attacker at full speed.

Allura blinks and gets back to her feet. Around her, the place is in chaos - a boy with a mullet is punching a man in the face, while another man in a black hoodie is in the middle of kicking the leader in the gut. The leader swings and the man block it with his arm; Allura catches a glimpse of silver before the hooded man withdraws it and sends the man flying with a punch.

Disbelieving relief rises in her gut. The Champion has arrived.

——-

With four people, the fight is evener. They make short work of the gang, send them packing with their tails between their legs, and Allura turns around to give her thanks and to see if she can convince them to come back with her - maybe they would agree to let her treat their wounds.

Before she can get the words out, however, the Champion doubles over with a pained groan, hands cupping his stomach.

“Shiro?!” Mullet rushes over to his companion, panic crossing his newly bruised features. Allura and Lance follow suit. Mullet hovers over Shiro, exposing his face to the world as he pulls roughly at the area Shiro’s hands cover - and swears violently at what he finds.

Blood. Allura’s stomach turns. One of them must have pulled a knife on him.

“He needs a hospital,” Allura says urgently, but Shiro is shaking his head with a groan before she even finishes the sentence.

Mullet lets go of Shiro, pulling his own jacket off and wading it up. “We can’t afford to go.” He says firmly, but there’s panic dancing in his eyes as he presses the wad of fabric against Shiro’s wound to stem the flow.

“Are you kidding? Keith, he needs a hospital.” Lance interrupts, face serious. “If you can’t afford it we can just -”

“No,” The Mullet boy called Keith insists, and that is definitely unsureness mixed with panic in his eyes now, Allura is sure of it. “No, we can’t afford a hospital. Too risky. And how do you know my name?”

The look Lance shoots Keith is completely unimpressed. “We were in the same year together. Remember?”

“Uh.”

“How could’ve you forgotten our rivalry?! Lance and Keith, neck to neck! It’s only been a few months! And we really need to get Shiro to a hospital before he bleeds out and dies on the street!”

“I told you, we can’t afford-”

“Then come to my place.” Allura interrupts. The two whirl to face them, surprises as if they’d forgotten she’d been there, and she dusts herself down lightly. “We can treat him in private there, as thanks for your help. No hospitals.”

Keith looks unsure, like he wants to accept help but is unable to do so. “Shiro?”

They turn to the man in question. Shiro is pale from blood loss, perspiration on his brow, but there’s a faint red flush to his cheeks that Allura suspects are from fever. For a moment, she thinks that the long scar across Shiro’s nose is from the fight - but no, it’s too healed for it to be recent. The gaunt look on his face is exacerbated by the white lock dangling down his forehead, but there is a stubborn look in his eyes - dilated, Allura notes, confirming her theory about fever - that implies he might not accept the help they offer.

He looks familiar, but that can wait.

Allura waits quietly for his answer, allowing worry and concern to show on her face. Beside her, Lance calls Coran, and Keith helps to press against the wound. Shiro bits his lip at the pressure, but no sound escapes his lips. He looks up at them, shoulders tense as if he is about to refuse, but when he glances at Keith, he sighs. After a few seconds, he nods.

Keith sighs in relief. “Well take your offer.”

With a sigh of relief herself, Allura stands up. Keith attempts to pull Shiro up, and Lance darts in to help him. Allura shoots them a reassuring smile. “This way.”

——–

Coran is not pleased when he sees their battered state, but he brings them in anyway. He leaves to call the doctor as Shiro rests on the couch, and Allura collapses onto a chair with a groan. Beside her, Lance does the same, while Keith stands against the wall with crossed arms.

“Lance!” Hunk rushes into the living room, Pidge and the mice at his heels. He rushes over to Lance, worry on his face. “We heard that there was a fight and wow that’s a lot of bruises.” He pauses, face full of concern. “You all look a mess. What happened? Is everyone ok?”

Allura winces at the worry in Hunk’s voice. Hunk is right - they’ve all had better days. Lance is sporting a magnificently purpling cheek, and even though his sprawl seems relaxed, the way he’s holding himself indicates bruised ribs. Allura looks like a boxer has punched her in the face and her arm hurts, while Keith has a bleeding right arm and a split lip, and although he holds himself afar from the rest, Allura can see the careful way he leans on one side, as if his foot is a crumbling pedestal that can’t bear great weight right now. Shiro might be less battered than the rest of them, but he also has the worst injury with the knife to his stomach.

“We’ll be ok.” Lance is groaning to Hunk. He grins, bright and cheerful and a little bit gloating. “And guess what! Shiro’s the Champion!”

“No way.” Hunk’s eyes widen, whirling around to face the figure on the couch. Pidge does the same. “Takeshi Shirogane?! Shiro the Valedictorian? Leader of the astronomy club who disappeared? We all thought he was dead! And wait - is that Keith?!”

Keith hunches in on himself, an unsure look crossing his face. “Hey.”

“Hey!” Hunk bustles in closer, a warm smile spreading across his face. “Wow man, what happened? We all thought you were -”

“Shiro?”

Allura’s head whips around so fast she almost feels the pain of whiplash. Pidge is staring at Shiro, a mixture of emotions playing across her face. At the edge of her vision, she sees Keith tense as Pidge reaches out, but when Shiro doesn’t move he remains still. Silently, almost as if she’s afraid of waking from a dream, Pidge touches Shiro’s shoulder.

The room is silent now, holding its breath waiting for the next brick to fall. Shiro provides the ammunition with a smile that looks like a grimace, shifting to see her while his hand remains pressed to the wound. “Katie. Hi.”

The room erupts like exploding dynamite.

“You know each other?” Hunk asks the same time Lance yells “you’re a girl?!” Silently, Allura implores the mice on why the universe is so small. Keith says nothing, but he rushes forward with a deftness that’s only slightly hampered by his leg just in time to stop Pidge from grabbing Shiro by the shoulders.

Pidge doesn’t fight Keith’s hold, her face a mixture of anguish and hope. “My brother and dad!” She’s asking urgently, almost yelling. “I’ve been looking for them for ages, do you know where they are?!”

Shiro’s face is pale. “I… I don’t know.” He stammers, sounding lost, upset that he’s unable to provide more. He closes his eyes, body tense like he’s waiting for a blow. “I can’t remember - I’m sorry.”

“How can you not remember-” “He’s sick!”

Pidge and Keith are yelling at each other, Hunk and Lance joining in. Their noise rises to the ceiling, and Allura rubs her head with a grimace. The noise is giving her a headache. As if sensing her distress, the mice climb to her shoulders in an impressive show of gymnastic ability and rub their heads against her cheek.

Quietly, Allura strokes them on the head. Nothing she says right now will try through to the four, agitated as they are now. It would be best to keep quiet for a bit, let them get it out of their system before asking them to quiet down. In the meantime, Allura decides to figure out what’s going on. Takeshi Shirogane looks familiar. Why…

A piece of the puzzle clicks.

Takeshi Shirogane. One of the members who disappeared alongside Matt and Sam Holt. One of the people considered dead.

Why, then, is he still alive, if changed?

A knock on the door that goes almost unheard in the chaos, and Coran peers in, another man beside him. “The doctor has arrived!” He looks at them, eyebrows rising into his hair. They stare back, frozen in place. “Or am I interrupting something?”

Allura gets to her feet. “No, nothing at all.” She replies smoothly. The others nod hastily, quickly going back to their places. Pidge looks like she’s about to burst with questions, but a pat on her shoulder by Lance and a warning look from Hunk and she quiets down, crossing her arms with a huff. Allura smiles, walking towards them. “Just some… minor discussions, that’s all.”

As Coran bustles the doctor in and the others take place in their own seats, Allura resolves to ask questions once they’ve all been treated.

———–

They get the story from Shiro after the doctor has left.

According to Shiro, he and the Holts had been working for Galra Corporations Medical Division - Matt and Shiro as interns, Sam on a work exchange that would last a couple months. They had been researching prosthetics when Sam had noticed something amiss with the data.

“It was the little things,” Shiro says. “Too many tests per month, more supplies than we needed that ended up being used anyway, certain test logs that didn’t appear. We informed the higher ups and they said they’d investigate, but when it continued we decided to look through it ourselves.”

Allura nods, storing the information away for later use. “You found the hidden research facilities.”

“Yes.” Shiro nods, stricken. “They were… people were trapped in labs, made to work, used as lab rats. We…” his hands tighten on the sheets, and he swallows. “I don’t remember much about what went on in there, but we collected data. About the place. And we didn’t know what to do or who to tell, but then we ran into your father, Alfor.”

Allura closes her eyes, grief welling in her, still sharp despite the months that have passed since his death. Her father. He had been suspicious, researching the same thing they had, and by chance or design, they’d manage to get together and create a plan to take down Galra Corporations.

A plan that had resulted in deaths and disappearances and two grieving families, in the end.

“We were careless,” Shiro says softly. He’s looking down at the sheets, still curled tight in his fingers. Guilt radiates from his body. “We… we gathered the data and sent it to Alfor, but we got caught in the process. They found out.” He doesn’t look up, but Allura can see his shoulders tense as if waiting for a blow, as if she would take out her anger on a man who already has too much on his plate to deal with. “I’m sorry.”

it is clear that Shiro thinks it is his fault. That he had a role to play in her father’s death, for being unable to stop people from being spirited away.

It is not.

“It’s not your fault,” Allura says firmly. Beside her, Coran nods, and she reaches out, takes his hand on her own. The prosthetic feels smooth and cold, a sharp contrast to his warm one. Shiro flinches as if he wants to pull it away from her, but he stays still. “It’s not.” She repeats, and she tightens her grip as if it could get across just how much she means her words.

Shiro hasn’t said much about his imprisonment, just that he had attempted an escape but got caught outside the compound and that Keith had seen him, helped him run, helped him hide and fight for the people who were being taken. But the scars on his face and his arm, the way his body trembles and withdraws despite his efforts when the doctor treats him, the small, relieved sigh as the doctor took his leave - it tells a story that leaves Allura disgusted at Haggar’s lack of ethic.

The data Pidge had extracted confirms that story - it’s the data that they had sent like a probe of hope to the future. The Galra Corporations had kidnapped countless of people, used Shiro in experiments like an animal, killed her father who went looking for the truth. They did everything they could to bury the truth, but they have failed to cover all their tracks.

“The ones at fault are Galra Corporations. Zarkon, Haggar, everyone who knew. They are responsible for this, and you are not.” Allura looks him straight in the eye, fury and sadness rising in her. She hopes with all her heart that her words reach him. “You are just as much of a victim as well.”

Shiro’s eyes widen. He looks like he’s about to cry, that her words are a salvation he thinks he doesn’t deserve. “Allura…”

“Shiro!” Lance bursts into the room, the rest of the team sans Pidge at his heels. Shiro blinks, nonplussed at the sudden change in the situation. “How you doing? And Keith is an ass who doesn’t think he can beat my ‘twenty marshmallows in mouth at one go’ record.”

“It’s not that I can’t beat you, it’s because there are no marshmallows.” Keith, holding the mice in his hands, gently dumps them the bed. They clamber up around Shiro, sniffing his scent curiously. Sprawling back against the visitor seat, Keith raises an eyebrow as Lance produces a bag of marshmallows with a winning grin. “Still don’t believe you can do it.”

“Oh yeah? Watch me!” Lance begins to stuff marshmallows in his mouth.

“And I’ve brought lunch!” Hunk shoulders gently past Lance, a tray in both hands. The tray contains a covered bowl that he places gently on the table. Thought you could use a bite to eat.” He looks expectantly at Shiro.

Shiro looks nonplussed, blinking a few times as he tries to catch up with the situation. The mice take the opportunity to climb to his shoulders. “…Sure..?” He says, as if testing new grounds. Smothering a laugh, Allura stands and helps Hunk move the table in front of Shiro. The smell wafting from the bowl is positively godly, and Shiro closes his eyes with a blissful smile. “That smells really good, Hunk.”

“Not just smell, it tastes great!” Hunk grins proudly as the mice scramble down from Shiro’s shoulders to play on the bed. Behind them, Keith is goading Lance to eat the fourth marshmallow. “Grandma’s secret porridge. She used to make it when I was sick, it goes down really well.”

“It tastes great!” Shiro is wolfing down the porridge as fast as he can. Eyes alight with wonder, he looks up at Hunk with a thankful smile. “I haven’t had anything this delicious since last year.” He chuckles. “All Keith and I can do are microwave food, so we’ve been living off cans for a year.”

Hunk gasps as if he’s just heard that someone has destroyed his mother’s oven. “You poor man. No worries, soon we’ll -”

“Never mind that!” Pidge bursts into the room before Hunk can finish his sentence. She waves a disc excitedly. “I’ve decoded the thing!”

Behind Allura, Lance’s thirteenth marshmallow drops from his mouth to the floor.

———–

As it turns out, the information is with some person named Slav. Shiro recalls him as someone who used to work in the Galra Division, before he disappeared and never went back. The information they have isn’t enough to bring the Galra Corporation down - Slav would serve as a better witness than Shiro, who barely remembers anything from his time gone.

The good news - They know his coordinates. The bad news - it’s out in nowhere in the desert and the nearest bus stop is three hours away.

They frown at the spot on the map, circled in red marker. “Anyone have any ideas?” Allura asks hopefully.

The others launch into a discussion, but all of them don’t quite fit or are filled with holes the size of a colander. In the end, however, it is Coran who saves the day.

“Well,” Coran speaks up suddenly, stroking his mustache thoughtfully. His eyes twinkle. “How do you all feel about a little camping trip?”

———–

The last time Allura had gone camping was when she was a small child, when her mother was still alive. It had been a short camping trip, just a night out staring at the stars with her parents and Coran, but Allura can still recall the awe she’d felt when she saw the stars in all their splendor, twinkling like glitter against a dark blue canvas that expanded as far as her eye could see. Her father had held her up on his shoulders, and her mother had laughed when Allura had tried to reach for the stars with her small, chubby hands.

It had been small and quiet, majestical and grand. A night that shines like a star, representing everything good in her life back when things were simpler.

This time, however, it is different. She is no longer with family, but with friends. They are far away from the small plain from her youth, in the midst of a desert. It is a resting point for a destination, one that could quite potentially change their lives, but that does not mean that they cannot have fun while doing so.

It is a different type of coziness, one that is the boisterous warmth of a bonfire than the quiet coziness of a hearth in the winter. Allura thinks she can get used to both.

“Sooo.” Hunk begins, drawing out the word. He rests his arms on his knees, face light with a teasing grin. “How was dinner?”

“It was great!” Allura exclaims cheerfully. She beams at Hunk from where she’s seated cross legged near the fire, hands spread out for warmth. “I had no idea that baked rice would taste so different when cooked with a campfire.”

“Yeah,” Pidge says. She’s resting on her stomach in front of the fire, stretched out like a cat on the ground. She licks her lips. “It was pretty good, Hunk. Way better than Coran’s weird goop anyway.”

“Hey, it contains nutrients! Good nutrients!” Coran protests. He’s leaning against the van, carefully avoiding the sound of Lance and Keith pouring over the map. On the other side, Shiro is carefully chaining a motorcycle to the van, a prevention against thieves. “Although I have to admit, it was delicious.” He twirls his mustache thoughtfully.

Allura laughs, warmth and contentment mixing in her belly. They’re traveling now, heading towards where they believe is Slav’s location. The notes say that he has what’s left of the information needed to expose Galra Corporations, and so they’re traveling to convince him to help.

They could have taken the train. But Slav lives far away from society, and it would have been faster by driving. They have rented a van, and Keith has his old bike, and when Shiro wistfully said it felt like camping, why not?

Behind her, Keith and Lance are arguing now, Keith tapping the paper like it’s aggravated him. For a moment, Allura wonders if she should intervene, but Shiro walks past her, tapping her shoulder with a grin. “I’ll do it.”

Allura nods and leans back, staring idly into the flickering flames of the campfire. The fire in front of her crackles merrily from the firewood they had chopped earlier, and for a moment Allura wonders if her father has had as much trouble as they had in starting the fire. Quietly, she grasps the necklace around her neck.

“Remembering the good old days, eh?” Coran teases as he steps out of the van. They’ve brought the mice with them in a cage inside the van, and Coran had been in charge of feeding them today - a task recently completed. He drops a navy blue blanket over Pidge’s head. She squawks as it falls over her, covering her entire body like a sea. He leans against the van, smiling, and his eyes are warm, watchful as he waits for Allura to answer. “It’s different, isn’t it, Princess?”

Allura looks around thoughtfully. A couple of months ago, she had lost her father, had few friends, was swamped with grief and anger and vengeance with only Coran for company.

Now, she is surrounded with people. Pidge wriggles out of the blanket, one knee raised up in the air as she continues to stare at the fire. Hunk is seated on the steps, staring at the fire and muttering S’more recipes under his breath. Behind Allura, Lance, Shiro, and Keith are talking about locations on the map, arguing to visit the nearest tourist spot or heading straight to their desired location. Leaning against the van, Coran looks at peace for the first time since her father’s death. Quietly, Allura stares at the fire, a smile curving faintly on her lips.

It is different. But it is also comforting.

“Yes.” The reply is simple, too simple to convey the sense of contentment she feels, but Allura thinks Coran understands what she means. He smiles at her, and Allura laughs quietly, tilting her head back to watch the sunset and the stars appear one by one.

Things aren’t over. Not by a long shot. But for now, in this bubble of warm comfort, Allura feels the weight around her shoulders fade into nothing, leaving her lighter than she has felt for months.

With a heartfelt smile in what feels like the first time since her father's funeral, Allura looks up into the darkening sky and calls for the others to see the constellations.

**Author's Note:**

> I entered the Voltron Gen minibang 2017 as a way to challenge myself into completing something, and this is the result. Many thanks to the mods who had to put up with me! This is my first fanfic for this fandom that's actually completed, and I hope it's up to scratch.
> 
> There were so many times in the making of this (my computer was broken for a month, had a fallout with a friend to the point we're not speaking anymore etc) that I almost wondered if I was cursed, but it's done now! Complete for the whole world to see, come what may. *prepares shield*
> 
> ALSO! Praise be to TRCelyne, who did art that accompanied this fanfic! They were working under really crappy conditions (I was not the best partner one could have) BUT THE ART IS GORGEOUS AND THEY NEVER COMPLAINED AND WERE GENERALLY AWESOME ALL AROUND! Srsly I owe them loads. Not even joking. [GO SEE THEIR ART IT'S AWESOME. GO SEE IT.](http://trcelyneart.tumblr.com/post/163630451072/heres-my-final-piece-for-the-voltrongenminibang)
> 
> *EDIT* I just realised I forgot to include the link for the art (sorry TRC). Here it is! http://trcelyneart.tumblr.com/post/163630451072/heres-my-final-piece-for-the-voltrongenminibang
> 
> *EDIT EDIT* Figured out how to link!


End file.
